


Fragility

by JEAikman



Series: The Musketeers - prompts and one-shots [53]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Episode: s01e02 Sleight of Hand, Gen, Introspection, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 17:26:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2118477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JEAikman/pseuds/JEAikman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not like he can tell the boy what he can and cannot do with his life, that's his own decision, and Athos will have to respect it.</p>
<p>But he so desperately wants him to avoid sharing Thomas' fate. It might just be because he's young and green and more likely to rush headfirst into danger than the others that he equates the two of them in his mind.</p>
<p>And just when did d'Artagnan's presence manage to worm its way through his walls as surely as Aramis' and Porthos' had?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragility

**Author's Note:**

> found this in my unfinished folder, polished it up a bit, and whilst I'm not quite sure how I feel about it, I thought I would share anyway :)

He couldn't believe how close he was letting the boy get. It hardly helped that Porthos and Aramis were already treating him as if he were some long lost kid brother - that was doing the opposite of helping. If they'd just sent the stubborn Gascon pup on his way, his emotions wouldn't be in this mess. And then they had to go and encourage him, even going so far as to counsel Athos to trust the boy with the Vadim plan. And where had that gotten him? Nearly killed, that's what. He'd had a head wound, luckily with no lasting damage, and the skin around his wrists he had torn whilst trying to get out of the ropes which had been _tying him to barrels of gunpowder_. God, what had Treville been thinking, sending in an untrained whelp to do the job of a soldier, or a spy?

 

He wondered if d'Artagnan even knew the meaning of the word self-preservation. His bright smiles and the way he made easy friends of nearly everyone he met was so heartbreakingly like Thomas that it physically pained him - oh god, when he had thought d'Artagnan was dead, his heart had felt torn in two - just when had the boy gotten past the walls that he'd built around himself to prevent that from happening? And to make matters worse, the idiot was set on becoming a Musketeer - didn't he have a farm to be getting back to? Didn't he have responsibilities, now that his father was dead and gone? Athos supposed he could remind the boy of that, but it didn't feel right. Not when the other two would defend the boy against his words, and not when he himself had run away from his responsibilities as Comte de la Fere. All that would be left of that place were memories, and perhaps, though the boy's would be fond memories, they would be more difficult to face now that such a large part of them was gone.

 

And what helped the least, was the fact that every time he looked at d'Artagnan, and his youth and his inexperience, he saw a flash of Thomas in something that he did – in the way his eyes flashed if someone dared to insult Madame Bonacieux, honest to God, he was going to be as much trouble as Aramis, even if it was only the one woman he was pining after. But he could hardly counsel a boy, barely twenty (younger than Thomas, still) to do away with romance, not when he had barely had his first taste of it. No, better to let him become cynical with age than to douse his fiery spirit.

 

That still, however, left Athos worrying about him constantly – how was he ever to keep him safe, him being so hotheaded and impulsive? It seemed an impossible task, and the line of thought was one he could not shake off. D'Artagnan was young, heart full of a thirst for justice and truth and honour. He would be just the type to confront a criminal by himself and end up with his throat slit – just like Thomas.

 

He hadn't even realised that his hands were shaking until he looked down at them. He really, really needed a drink right now, but there was none left in his rooms and it was too early to go to the tavern, even by his standards. He took a steadying breath and forced his trembling fingers to still. He needed to get himself together. He couldn't let the others see him like this, especially not d'Artagnan, whose eyes, when they linger on him, always seem full of admiration – though the why of it is a mystery to Athos. The others he had never told about Thomas, so they wouldn't understand why he feels this overwhelming need to keep d'Artagnan safe. They would, if he told them, but he couldn't bear it, telling them of his failure, his shame.

He hides behind the mask of doing his duty, like he always had, and it keeps him upright when all he wants to do is fall apart. The brothers he has somehow gained do not replace the one he lost, but he thinks he can keep living, if it's for their sakes.

 


End file.
